


This Isn't Valentine's Day

by reliquiaen



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3404972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquiaen/pseuds/reliquiaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This was probably going to be horrible, or so her head told her. Her heart was positive it would be awesome." - AU. In which Marceline doesn't celebrate Valentine's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Isn't Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Marceline doesn't **do** Valentine's Day.

“So?” Rosie asked, stirring her coffee.

Bonnie blinked at her. “So what?”

“So what did you do last night?” her friend said, waving a hand for emphasis as though her meaning should be obvious. “Duh. What else would I be talking about?”

“Nothing, actually,” Bonnie sighed, shrugging. “We did nothing.”

Rosie’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding. But she’s been slinking around for a week with that sly smile on like she’s five and hiding the cookie jar. There has to have been something.”

“Nope, Rose. Nothing, I was there. I got home and she was on her laptop watching _Sherlock_ again. She helped with dinner, then we watched the fireworks from the balcony and went to bed.”

Rosie’s spoon clattered to her plate. “She is the _worst_ girlfriend in the history of the world. Honestly. It was _Valentine’s_ Day.”

“How about,” Bonnie began in an overly bright tone, “you tell me what you did yesterday instead. We can just pretend Marceline’s not pathetic, okay?”

“Alright,” Rose said slowly, bobbing her head, going back to her stirring. “Well it was nice, you know? I was sent home at lunch because I was apparently not needed, only to find out Jake had called my boss and made some sort of arrangement to get me out of work. Then when I got home he grabbed my hand and we walked straight back out again. We went to dinner, spent the evening at the park watching all those movies playing on the back of the library that he hates. We walked down the main street; bought one of those chocolate dipping platters at Stacey’s and sat on the pier for the fireworks.” She smiled. “It was really nice.”

Bonnie beamed at her friend’s expression; Rosalind was so thoroughly smitten with Jake that it was too adorable for words. And he was _such_ a nice guy. His friends all claimed Jake didn’t have a romantic bone in his body, but they were wrong. Oh no, it was Marceline who lacked the romance. Jake was perfect at it.

“That’s lovely, Rose,” Bonnie told her happily. To herself, she quietly mused on the probability that Jake would propose this year. It seemed pretty good to her. “He got you out of work?”

“Yeah. I still don’t know how, no one will tell me.” She looked pretty miffed by that, but Rosie wouldn’t mind the not knowing. This time next week she’d have completely forgotten. Well, not completely, but… yeah.

For a while they sat in silence. Not many people were out and about today, but that was to be expected. As the afternoon following Valentine’s Day, the majority of people would probably still be in a coma of one kind or another. 

“Did you do anything for Marceline?” Rosie whispered, burying her face in her cup.

After a good moment of prolonged quiet Bonnie admitted, “Yes. I did. I don’t think she’s found it yet though. I sort of just left it lying around because she’s snoopy.”

Rosie laughed. “You know she’s blind, right?”

Bonnie’s mouth curled into a wry grimace. “Yeah… I suppose that’s true. Oh well. I put in the same amount of effort she did.”

“Maybe put it somewhere even _more_ obvious when you get home,” Rosalind said around her smile. “Do you have plans for the rest of the day?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she sighed. “I have papers to mark. I really wish they’d just grade themselves.”

“You knew what you were signing up for, Bonnie,” Rosie reminded her. “It is actually in the job description.”

“Don’t be smart with me, Ryder. I’ll do them when I get home.” Bonnie checked her watch. “I should probably go now if I want them all done by tonight. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” she said, pushing her chair out.

“Yeah, just give me a call,” Rosie agreed, remaining seated. “I’m meeting Hayden here in an hour anyway. Have fun with your exams!”

“Essays actually,” Bonnie corrected, rolling her eyes. “Bye.”

It was a relatively short walk from their most-frequented café to her apartment building. One day, Bonnie was absolutely set on moving out of their tiny apartment and getting a house. Maybe one just inside the city limits. Then she could finally move her car out of the public garage and stop paying their ridiculous prices. She honestly didn’t know how Rosie could be so content to live in an apartment. Sure, her space was a good deal bigger than the one Bonnie shared with Marceline, but still. Inner city living was not all it was cracked up to be.

Although (as she considered it a moment), it was pretty entertaining. A month ago, a couple had moved in below them and almost straight away arguments had commenced. Arguments of the loud and late-night variety (and Bonnie quickly became thankful for Marceline’s insomnia). They’d made a bet, laughing at how ridiculous the couple was, on how long it would be before one or the other (or both) moved out. Two nights ago had seen the culmination of that, concluding with the row-to-end-all-rows and the guy had stormed out of the apartment and hadn’t come back. Highly entertaining to be sure. 

Still, it would be nice to have some quiet.

Unlocking the door to her apartment on the third floor, it took Bonnie nearly three full minutes to realise something wasn’t right. The door was locked, her keys deposited on the table by the entrance, shoes kicked off and slipped underneath, she was on her way to the kitchen before she saw it. And when she did, she froze, everything suddenly moving in slow motion.

On the dining table was a bouquet of flowers, she stepped over to it, frowning. Primrose and forget-me-not were the most prevalent and red carnation heads sat on the table around the vase. A folded piece of paper was nestled among the carnations and when Bonnie lifted it, she found it had been concealing a small velvet box. Oddly, her car keys rested atop the box.

Warily, the unfolded the note. This was all very bizarre and she had no idea what to make of it. Her stomach had long since leapt to unfounded conclusions though and was practicing its gymnastics routine for the Olympics.

_Bonnie_ , the note read in Marceline’s cursive hand. _Bring this box and come to 21 Lakeview Crescent._ Alright. It was addressed to her which meant that at least this was… not a mistake. She didn’t think. It remained to be seen whether or not it _should_ have been a mistake.

She folded the paper back up and slid it into her bag along with the box (which she didn’t even open – knowing Marceline it was a joke or something). With one last anxious glance at the vase of flowers, she snatched her car keys off the table and headed out. This was probably going to be horrible, or so her head told her. Her heart was positive it would be awesome.

Lakeview Crescent was a string of culs-de-sac in the no-man’s-land on the outskirts of the city. As the name would suggest, it overlooked the… actually it was misnamed, it overlooked the river, not a lake. Riverview Crescent didn’t have quite the same ring she supposed, but it would’ve been more accurate. Anyway, it was situated up high after most of the area had been rebuilt in the wake of some rather terrible floods nearly six years ago. Consequently, the back yards of the houses all along the neighbourhood ended in stone retaining walls eight feet high. Below them was parkland leading up to the river. ‘Picturesque’ was the word used most often to describe the suburb.

The house she pulled up outside (labelled with a big green 21) was a two storey affair with a quaint picket fence, well-kept front lawn, wrap-around porch (complete with swinging chair) and a very homey look. It alternated between stone, brick and wood in a strangely aesthetic way and had big bay windows. She blinked at it for a few minutes, wondering what the hell she was doing here.

Eventually, Bonnie collected her composure (or what few shreds she could find) and headed cautiously up the path to the front door. She lifted a fist to knock, but it was unlocked and ajar… most curious. Carefully, she pushed it in and stepped across the threshold. It was as lovely within as it was without, so warm and clean.

She could hear soft singing coming from the back of the house, however, and decided to delay her inquisitive inspection of the interior (and ignore the delightful scents wafting from the kitchen) until after she’d found the source of it. Bonnie stepped as quietly as she could until she found the back door. A large patio is what she discovered, connected to the house by concertina glass doors and roofed by what seemed to be part of the second floor. Beyond it was a yard, mostly grass, but a few saplings that she couldn’t identify were growing along the fences separating this house from the neighbours. Past that, she could see the river. She blinked again. What was she doing here?

It was humming this time that drew her attention, gaze snapping to another swinging porch chair. Curled up on this one, brilliant red bass guitar in hand, was Marceline. She smiled when Bonnie stepped out, gobsmacked.

“Marceline…?” Bonnie wasn’t sure where she was heading with that question, so she just left it alone. There was too much (and yet so little) running through her head for her to make sense of it anyway. “What…?” she tried with the same result.

“Do you like it?” Marceline asked her, nodding her head at the house. “Pretty nice, huh?”

Bonnie half turned to glance behind her at the house. It was very nice. “What’s going on?” she queried, facing her girlfriend again. All Marceline did was pat the space beside her on the grey cushions.

Reluctantly, Bonnie sat. “Do you like the house?” Marceline questioned again.

“It’s lovely. Why am I here?”

Marceline set her guitar on the small glass table beside the chair and sat up straight. “Did you bring the box?” Bonnie nodded at her, not sure where this was going, and handed it over. She stared at it good and hard as Marceline turned it in her fingers. Without warning, Marceline snapped the box open revealing a small silver key. “Wanna move in with me?”

Bonnie opened her mouth to remind her that they already lived together before the truth of what Marceline was asking smacked her in the face. Her eyes widened – she could feel it – they went as wide as they could and then tried to keep going. She felt like a right idiot. “Did you buy a house?” she asked in little more than a whisper.

Marceline shrugged. “I might have.”

She had no words. There was literally no way Bonnie could formulate so much as a syllable, let alone a coherent sentence, to speak. “Why?” she eventually spluttered.

“Because you’ve always wanted a proper house,” Marceline replied with a casual shrug. “Because I found out today that our album is doing insanely well and – oomph!” She lost her ability to speak too as Bonnie crushed her in a hug.

“Thank you,” Bonnie murmured.

Marceline’s arms tightened around her and she smiled. “Any time. I bet you thought I forgot about Valentine’s didn’t you?”

Bonnie laughed then, bright and happy. “I did. I was convinced of it, actually.”

“Well I hadn’t. I just don’t celebrate or even acknowledge it as a holiday because it’s stupid,” Marceline told her matter-of-factly. “Since today isn’t Valentine’s though, it’s the fifteenth and doesn’t count even a little; I figured I could tell you about the house.”

“When… I mean… How?” Bonnie asked, pulling back to stare into Marceline’s sparkling eyes.

“I’ve been paying it off for a few months now,” she said around a huge grin. “The final payment went through last week.”

Bonnie couldn’t stop smiling. “We have a house,” she breathed. “Wait. Go back a bit. What did you say about your album?”

If possible (and Bonnie wasn’t sure it was) Marceline’s smile widened. “Our album hit three on the charts. Nobody has said anything yet just in case it jinxes us, but Todd was whispering the word ‘platinum’ the other day.”

At that, Bonnie basically squealed. “That’s so exciting. We have a house and you’re a superstar. I knew it. Can I tell your dad?”

“Calm down, Bon,” Marceline laughed. “It’s not official yet. The second one. The house is ours. Furnished and everything. I tested out the kitchen too.” Marceline wriggled out from underneath Bonnie. “Come on, let’s eat.”

“You _cooked_?” Bonnie asked when she stepped into the kitchen and realised what the smell was. “Is it safe to eat?”

“Please,” Marceline chortled. “As the only female in our family I’m quite the competent cook, you know. It was either learn how to make food worth eating, or consume gross take out every day.”

“I thought that second option would be right up your alley.”

“Ha ha,” she said drily, opening the oven. “Don’t be mean.”

Watching Marceline, Bonnie decided that the eating could wait. She stepped around the island counter and wrapped her arms around Marceline, pressing her lips to her neck. “Leave it in the oven,” she muttered. “I have a better idea. We’ll eat after.”

The laugh that gurgled up Marceline’s throat was sunshine. “The bed is brand new.”

Bonnie met Marceline’s lips with her own and muttered, “Then we should break it in.”


End file.
